Wednesday, May 31, 2017

[Magee Marsh. May 2017]Were this blogger to be accused of a pronounced (some might even say "obsessive"?) bias toward warblers, the accusation would be surely met with an acquiescence tantamount to sweet agreement. This is one accusation to which the only response is a joyful "guilty as charged"! Indeed, this bias is borne unashamed and its energy channeled into the glorious study of all North American warblerkind -- in passage, at their breeding grounds, in recognizing and learning their songs, observing their natural history and understanding their ecology. Surely, no other avian subject offers the prospect of such endless fascination and satisfaction. Yet, while warblers may be the stars of Spring migration; they are not exclusive in deserving photo-documentation of their passage at Magee Marsh. And, in this post, we offer a selection of the "non warblers" to excite and enthuse the reader:

Blackbirds

Baltimore Oriole

Common Grackle

Thrushes

Wood Thrush

Veery

Grey-cheeked Thrush

Swainson's Thrush

American Robin

Vireos

Red-eyed Vireo

Warbling Vireo

Flycatchers

Great Crested Flycatcher

Trail's Flycatcher

Others

Cedar Waxwing

Blue-Grey Gnatcatcher

Ruby-crowned Kinglet

Downy Woodpecker

We start with the Icterids or New World Blackbirds:Baltimore Oriole -- the male is a beautiful flame-orange; followed by a duller female:

Common Grackle -- cruelly considered by the insensitive as a "trash bird":

The Thrushes starting with our very own harbinger of Spring:

Grey-cheeked Thrush:

Swainson's Thrush -- note buffy spectacles:

An obstructed Veery:

And, the wonderful Wood Thrush:

Vireos -- beginning with Red-eyed:

And the drab-in-looks but spectacular-in-song, Warbling Vireo:

Flycatchers -- first, a Trail's Flycatcher:

Great Crested Flycatcher:

And all the rest: Cedar Waxwing:

Blue-grey Gnatcatcher:

A tiny woodpecker -- the Downy:

And, the Ruby-crowned Kinglet:

As birders, it is but natural to harbor preferences and develop affinities for particular species or groups of species to which no universal consensus might accrue; but as naturalists, we come to the clear realization that what _is_ incontestable, however, is that in the splendid cornucopia of avian life, there is an equal role to all species in maintaining a marvelous and harmonious ecological balance in Nature. And, while warblers may indeed offer color, song, and splendor in migration, the contemplative birder will no less be enthused by our many thrushes, flycatchers, vireos and others that bring such wonder and amazement in their own right.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

[Magee Marsh, OH. May 2017]It is this blogger's welcome duty to report on the spectacle of neotropical migration at the fabled Warbler Hotspot that graces the Southern shores of Lake Erie and is better known to the birding populace as Magee Marsh. Compared to 2016, this year's migration season was both erratic and below par -- with uncooperative winds resulting in a thin volume of arrivals until mid-May when things finally picked up. This, coupled with the leaf out, made photographic observation frustratingly difficult but not entirely impossible. Yet, in the hallowed tradition of this blog -- in dutiful (and delightful!) practice since 2012 -- we are pleased to faithfully present whatever meagre photographic pickings were obtained this season at Magee:

American Redstart

Blackpoll

Black-and-White Warbler

Bay-breasted Warbler

Black-throated Blue Warbler

Black-throated Green Warbler

Blackburnian Warbler

Cape May Warbler

Chestnut-sided Warbler

Canada Warbler

Common Yellowthroat

Magnolia Warbler

Myrtle Warbler

Northern Parula

Nashville Warbler

Prothonotary Warbler

Palm Warbler

Tennessee Warbler

Wilson's Warbler

Yellow Warbler

We start with the males (or females if no males of that species were sighted) followed by the females:

American Redstart: a striking songbird; yet, despite its name, there is actually no red in this warbler.

Blackpoll: Our long distance champion:

Black-and-White Warbler: This is one of our earlier migrants and by mid-May, it appeared that the males had gone through leaving the rearguard migration action to the females:

Bay-breasted Warbler: With dominant tones of chestnut, black and buffy cream, this is our most unusually colored warbler:

Black-throated Blue Warbler: Seen high in the canopy this season:

Black-throated Green Warbler: Many onlookers were questioning the green in the name -- a feature that's not obvious unless a full view of the back is obtained (second image):

Blackburnian Warbler: Not rare, but of rare beauty:

Cape May Warbler: The luscious shots of the males obtained in 2016 contrast with the lone sighting of a female this year (so drab, this blogger mistook her for a Pine Siskin!):

Chestnut-sided Warbler: The "Pennsylvania Warbler":

Canada Warbler: this is a late migrant and one of the main attractions at Magee:

Common Yellowthroat: For all their abundance, these warblers are not easily seen at Magee:

Prothonotary Warbler: This is one of the few breeding warblers at this venue:

Palm Warbler: completely transformed into its breeding best:

Tennessee Warbler: oft mistaken for a vireo:

Wilson's Warbler: surprisingly well represented this season:

Yellow Warbler:

And now for the girl warblers:American Redstart:

Blackpoll:

Black-and-white:

Bay-breasted:

Blackburnian:

Mangolia:

Northern Parula:

North American birding would be infinitely poorer without the arrival of our neotropical migrants. This feathered blessing is ours to enjoy every summer and few places afford the appreciation of the full richness of the bounty of migration like Magee Marsh.

About Me

The US, perhaps more than any other country, has witnessed a colossal loss of its native wildlife since the arrival of European colonists in the 16th century. When first discovered, this "Garden of Eden" was home to a rich and varied birdlife that existed in such staggering numbers that they literally darkened the skies and carpeted the land in their great multitudes.
Unfortunately, this great bounty of wildlife was subjected to ruthless exploitation at a horrific scale: birds were killed for food, for "sport", for trade, for fashion, for science, for fun. And, this insatiable lust for slaughter, coupled subsequently by other factors, such as habitat degradation, pollution, the introduction of invasive species and an explosion in the number of captive animals (such as domestic livestock and pets) have all collectively led to the extirpation, extinction, and annihilation of untold native species across the continent.
So why photograph birdlife? Only one reason: to document their intrinsic brilliance in an effort to promote their conservation. And, in so doing, to establish a non-exploitative relationship with our avifauna that furthers our understanding of their natural history.

What is Plume Hunting?

Plume hunting was big business in the late 1800's. Unfortunately, the dark side to the beauty of plumes led to the slaughter of millions of birds so women could wear fancy hats (Read about Plume Hunting).

Thankfully, in this age of digitization, we can capture most anything we want -- books, music, video, etc. -- digitally. And, with the advent of digital photography at the turn of the millennium, we can once again hunt for plumes -- but digitally; with none of the accompanying destruction. This blog is dedicated to capturing the beauty of nature reflected through the incredible diversity of our avifauna.

Reproduced below is ecofeminist Celia Thaxter's, "Woman’s Heartlessness" (Boston 1886; reproduced from Google Books) which was published at the time when plumes were worth their weight in gold and many species of birds were fast headed toward extinction:

WOMAN’S HEARTLESSNESSBy Celia Laighton Thaxter

When the Audubon Society was first organized, it seemed a comparatively simple thing to awaken in the minds of all bird-wearing women a sense of what their “decoration” involved. We flattered ourselves that the tender and compassionate heart of woman would at once respond to the appeal for mercy, but after many months of effort we are obliged to acknowledge ourselves mistaken in our estimate of that universal compassion, that tender heart in which we believed. Not among the ignorant and uncultivated so much as the educated and enlightened do we find the indifference and hardness that baffles and perplexes us. Not always, heaven be praised! But too often,--I think I may say in two-thirds of the cases to which we appeal. One lady said to me, “I think there is a great deal of sentiment wasted on the birds. There are so many of them, they will never be missed any more than mosquitoes. I shall put birds on my new bonnet.” This was a fond and devoted mother, a cultivated and accomplished woman. It seemed a desperate case, indeed, but still I strove with it. “Why do you give yourself so much trouble?” she asked. “They will soon go out of fashion, and there will be an end of it.” That may be,” I replied, “but fashion next year may order them back again, and how many women will have human feeling enough to refuse to wear them? It was merely waste of breath, however, and she went her way, a charnel-house of beaks and claws and bones and feathers and glass eyes upon her fatuous head.

Another, mockingly, says, “Why don’t you try to save the little fishes in the sea?” and continues to walk the world with dozens of warblers’ wings making her headgear hideous. Not one in fifty is found willing to remove at once the birds from her head, even if, languidly, she does acquiesce in the assertion that it is a cruel sin against nature to destroy them. “When these are worn out I am willing to promise not to buy any more,” is what we hear, and we are thankful, indeed, for even so much grace; but alas! birds never “wear out.” And as their wearer does not carry a placard stating their history, that they were bought last year, or perhaps given to her, and she does not intend to buy any more, her economy goes on setting the bad example, or it may be her indolence is to blame, one is as fatal as the other. Occasionally, but too rarely, we meet with a fine spirit, the fire of whose generous impulse consumes at once all selfish considerations, who recognizes the importance of her own responsibility, and whose action is swift as her thought to pluck our the murderous sign, and go forth free of its dishonor. And how refreshing is the sight of the birdless bonnet! The face beneath, no matter how plain it may be, seems to possess a gentle charm. She might have had birds, this woman, for they are cheap and plentiful enough, heaven knows! But she has them not, therefore she must wear within things infinitely precious,--namely, good sense, good taste, good feeling. Heaven bless every woman who dares turn her back on Fashion and go about thus beautifully adorned!

In one of the most widely circulated newspapers the fashionable news from Paris begins: “Birds are worn more than ever.” Birds “are worn!” Pitiful phrase! Sentence of deadly significance! “Birds are worn,”—as if that were final, as if all women must follow one another like a flock of sheep over a wall, and forget reason, forget the human heart within, forget everything but the empty pride of being “in the fashion.” Ah me, my fire-flecked oriole, watching your airy cradle from the friendly swinging elm bough, go get yourself an inky coat. Your beauty makes you but a target for the accursed gun that shatters your lovely life, quenches your delicious voice, destroys your love, your bliss, your dutiful cares, your whole beautiful being, that your dead body may disfigure some woman’s head and call all eyes to gaze at her! But no,--that will not save you. Blackbirds are not safe, they “are worn.” Carrion crows “are worn,” unsavory scavengers though they be. No matter on what they may have fed,--they “are worn.” Soar, swift sea-swallow,--I would it could be millions of miles away from the haunts of men; to the uttermost parts of the earth and the ocean carry your grace, your slender loveliness of shape, your matchless delicacy of tint and tone of color, soft, wondrous like gray cloud and silvery snow,--fly! dear and beautiful creature; seek the centre of the storm, the heart of the Arctic cold, the winter blast, they are not so unkind as—woman’s vanity. Do I not see you every day, your mocking semblance writhing as if in agony round female heads,--still and stark, sharp wings and tail pointing in stiff distress to heaven, your dried and ghastly head and beak dragged down to point to the face below, as if saying, “She did it.” The albatross of the Ancient Mariner is not more dreadful. Yesterday I saw three of you on one hat! Three terns at once, a horrible confusion of death and dismay.

Does any woman imagine these withered corpses (cured with arsenic) which she loves to carry about, are beautiful? Not so; the birds lost their beauty with their lives. Today I saw a mat woven of warblers' heads, spiked all over its surface with sharp beaks, set up on a bonnet and borne aloft by its possessor in pride! Twenty murders on one! and the face beneath bland and satisfied, for are not "Birds to be worn more than ever?" Flit, sandpiper, from the sea's margin to some loneliness remote and safe from the noble race of man! No longer in the soft May twilight call from cove to cove along the shore in notes that seem to breathe the very spirit of tender joy, of happy love, of sweet content; tones that mingle so divinely with the warm waves' murmur, with the south wind's balm, and sound in music through the dusk, long after the last crimson flash of sunset has faded from the sky year after year you come back to make your nest in the place you know and love, but you shall not live your humble, blissful, dutiful life, you shall not guard your treasured home, nor rejoice when your little ones break the silence with their first cry to you for food. You shall not shelter and protect and care for them with the same divine instinct you share with human mothers. No, some woman wants your corpse to carry on her head. You shall die that vanity, that "Fashion" may live.

I fear we no longer deserve these golden gifts of God. I would the birds could all emigrate to some friendlier planet peopled by a nobler race than ours, where they might live their sweet lives unmolested, and be treated with the respect, the consideration, and the grateful love which are their due. For we have almost forfeited our right to the blessing of their presence.

But still we venture to hope for a better future, still the Audubon and other societies work with heart and soul, to protect and save them, and we trust yet to see the day when women, one and all, will look upon the wearing of birds in its proper light,--namely, as a sign of heartlessness and a mark of ignominy and reproach.